A Secret Love

When Marigold ran upstairs to her room holding the gown, she carefully hung it in the wardrobe. After changing into her nightgown, she sat down at her dressing table to try on the yellow bird mask. She smiled as she saw how easily she could pass off as Christine. Lost in thought, she was playfully dancing around the room, softly humming the aria to herself. Imagining the audience applauding and Frans presenting her with a rose. Suddenly, a knock at her door brought her out of her daydream.

"Mari, my darling? May I come in?" Erik asked softly.

"O-one moment, Papa!" she called out. Quick as she could, she ran to the wardrobe to hide the mask and gown. With a quick thrust, she swiftly hid them and shut the wardrobe tightly, making sure to lock it tight. After she hid the key and quickly put on her dressing robe, she stumbled as she hurried over to her bed, sat down and pulled the covers over her lap, attempting to look as casual as possible.

"Come in." she called out, breathlessly. Erik walked in, looking perplexed at how breathless she looked. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "I-I, er, I was just cleaning my room a bit before bed," she stammered nervously. She cautiously eyed her the wardrobe.

"I thought I would come see you for a moment before you went to sleep." He walked over to her bedside and sat down. "I feel like I haven't been able to talk with you alone, what with all the preparations for the gala. Have you chosen an aria to sing?"

Marigold felt her mouth go dry as she struggled to find an answer. "Well, yes…Mother suggested one that I really loved and she will help me prepare for it."

"I'm glad to hear it. And what is aria is this?"

"I…I can't tell you."

Erik looked puzzled. "Why ever not?"

"Well, it's…a surprise," she said, smiling. "In fact, Mother swore me to secrecy. So, I'm forbidden to say."

Erik gave a small huff of a laugh. "I don't think I like it when both of you are secretive. Well, in any case, do you need any help from me with your singing instruction?"

"No thank you, Papa. I think Mother will be capable of helping me. But I do hope… I make you proud of me when you hear me sing."

"Well, I'm sure I will be, whatever you may sing." Erik kissed her forehead and sweetly wished her good night.

A few days before the gala, Marigold had been busy practicing her aria privately with Christine and Frans. They had been careful to practice while Erik was occupied so as not to cause suspicion.

Christine was briefly finishing her aria with Frans accompanying on the piano.

Marguerite, Ce n'est plus toi!
Ce n'est plus ton visage;
La, ce n'est plus ton visage;
Qu'on salut au passage!

"Bravo, Mother!" Marigold said, applauding.

"Thank you, dear heart! Remember, when you sing, don't show any signs of anxiety. Be confident and enjoy the moment. And smile especially. Show Papa that you were meant to sing the aria. When he sees the joy in your face, I have no doubt that it may even bring a tear to his eyes," said Christine. "Well, I think you ought to practice your aria for a while with Frans, while I speak to your father. This should give you some time to prepare. Frans, would you please accompany her?"

"Of course."

Christine gave a small wink to Marigold as she left the room, which made Marigold turn red. As Frans put the sheet music on the piano stand, he sat down and waited for Marigold's signal. "Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go over?"

"Before we start, Frans, I was thinking a lot about our conversation in the hallway. Before Papa called for us, was there something else you were wanting to tell me?" she asked, nervously.

"Oh…well, I…" he stammered. "I wasn't expecting you to remember that. But I suppose this would be an opportune time to say it." He stood up from the piano and slowly took his time walking to Marigold.

"I've noticed during the preparation for the gala that you seemed anxious and doubtful about yourself, especially when topics of the choice of aria came up. It was very kind of your mother to give her aria to you and I think it was exactly what you needed to boost your spirits." He held the sheet music in his hands. "Your father is a talented composer. It really is a beautiful aria and I can see why he composed it for your mother."

Marigold looked a little downcast. "I still don't feel if I can do it justice, Frans. Papa wrote that for Mother, not for me."

Frans slowly walked over to her and gently took her hand. "But she believes you will and so do I. You think I don't hear you when you sing it? Your voice doesn't have to be exactly like your mother's. It's unique in itself. When I hear you sing this aria, I think I feel exactly the way your father felt when he heard your mother sing. I told you that your voice is beautiful." He turned her chin up to have her look up to him. "You need to realize that for yourself too."

Marigold felt her heart beat faster as she looked up at Frans. With his deep blue eyes looking into her amber eyes, like the blue sky encircling the sun. His face softened as his hand reached to caress her cheek.

"It seems only yesterday how we were both young children, running around in the woods, going on excursions, chasing after gypsies." She gave a small laugh as he chuckled. "Though I was only a boy at the time, I didn't realize how you were much more than a childhood friend. You were a comfort to me when Grandfather passed away and you made me feel welcome in your home. And now that we've grown, your kindness and courage have shown me just how remarkable you are. When I look at you, I'm reminded of a passage from Schultz in his Symphoniae sacrae I: "Oh, how beautiful you are, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, my perfect one."

Marigold gasped a little at his words. "Frans…" she breathed.

He slipped his hands around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him until they were only inches away. Then she looked at his lips as he softly whispered to her, "I love you, Marigold. I love you so much."

With each word, his breath felt like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. Its gentle softness at her cheek sent a powerful tingle up her spine. She gave a gentle breathy giggle which made Frans look at her even more lovingly. Then, the gentle magnetic pull drew him even closer until she felt his soft warm lips meet hers. Lost in the moment, she gave a small moan as the kiss deepened. Blissfully, she softly giggled as he wrapped her arms around her. Amused by her reaction, Frans gave a deep chuckle that vibrated throughout her body. He kissed her for at least a minute until he gently drew back.

"Oh, Frans…I've dreamed of a moment like this…and I feel the same way. I believe I always have. I just didn't know it. You have been not just a good friend but a kindred spirit. My rock when I needed stability. My voice of reason and comfort. Aside from Papa, you are the most important man in my life. I love you too, with all of my heart."

Frans gave a soft sigh as he gently rested her head to his chest. She never realized how tall he was until she heard his heartbeat vibrate beneath her ear as his cheek rested atop her head. "My lovely girl…" he whispered softly to her. Looking down at her as held her close, he caressed her face and affectionately touched her nose, making her smile a little. They stood like that for a long while until his voice broke her out of her reverie. "As much as I ache to hold you longer, I think we better practice before your parents come in."

"What will we tell my father…about us?"

"When the timing is right, I'd like to ask him to properly court you. Now that I'm eighteen, I will soon become the new manager of the theatre and inherit Grandfather's house and estate. When I have settled and have properly courted you, I hope perhaps to make you even happier," he said.

"You have already made me happy. I hope I can make you happier."

He smiled. "Love me. That's all I ask of you." And he kissed her again.